


Longing

by porcelainsocks



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Blood, Closeted Baz Pitch, Confused Baz Pitch, M/M, Making Out, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Roommates, Sad Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, The Roommate's Anathema is out of service, Vampire Bites, Watford (Simon Snow)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 22:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21216218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/porcelainsocks/pseuds/porcelainsocks
Summary: It’s ecstatic for both of us – I can feel my body fill up with sparks and warmth, and Snow’s sighing and groaning, and he tightens his grip around my arm while telling me not to stop. So I don’t stop.





	Longing

Being fifteen means constant confusion.

Being a fifteen year old boy means you’re always turned on.

Being a fifteen year old vampire  – I’m still not sure if it’s the right term – means you’re always feeling a kind of thirst that bugs you and won’t leave until you drain a squirrel or two.

In conclusion – being a fifteen year old vampire boy is the nearest state to literal Hell I can think of. And when you find out your roommate isn’t only smelling like something you’re dying to taste, but also giving you wild thoughts, it isn’t making any day easier.

I remember crawling under my blanket, but then everything goes black.

And when I open my eyes again, I’m facing Snow’s bed. His empty bed under the window with the sheets crumpled. The first thing comes to my mind is he’s out somewhere like The Wavering Wood, probably with Bunce. Or by himself, which sounds quite unsafe to me. Not that he couldn’t take care of himself. More like I want to make sure the only danger he got into is produced by me.

I sigh and turn towards the wall – my heart skips a beat or two. A boy’s laying next to me, his curls are all over my pillow, his skin is glowing in the moonlight, and I feel an urge to connect the dots of his golden freckles on his shoulders and face. I have no idea how and when did he got into my bed, but in this very moment, it doesn’t really matter. I’m trying to think of the shortest and quietest way to escape – then all of sudden Snow’s eyelids open up.

I’m already out of breath when he reaches to my hands under the blanket. I’m afraid I might catch on fire. 

“Never” he whispers, “Never let me go.” His fingertips are soft and warm against my skin. It’s not helping me inhaling, though.

“I won’t.” It’s all I can say with my voice cracking, because I feel like it’s too good to be true. His raspy words are echoing in my mind like I’m trying to store every detail of these minutes. My body’s burning inside.

“Kiss me then” Snow says as he giggles at the confusion written on my face. “So I can be sure you mean it.”

This is something Snow would never say. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him kissing his own girlfriend. He always seems so prude about display of affection.

“I know you’ve been dying to do it.”

I want to ask and tell him so many things, but I’m not saying a word – I guess it’s not the right time for words. Instead, with a painful cramp in my stomach, I brush Snow’s lips with my thumb before I lean to him for a clumsy kiss.

I don’t know how to kiss someone properly. I have no experiences, and I’m afraid I might be doing it all wrong. Is there even a way to mess up a kiss?

It’s Snow who finally opens his mouth and I can’t help but moan in surprise. I’ve been fantasizing about this all, but it’s much better than anything I could imagine. I’m still panicking about my skills and technique, but when his right hand starts to wander over my collarbone and my chest – this is the moment when I take the lead.

I grab his hips and pull him closer. He’s on top of me, nesting himself between my spread legs, not pausing what we’ve been doing for five minutes or more – breathlessly and shamelessly making out with each other. Crowley, I’m about to explode!

I can feel my excitement growing, not only my heart is racing, but-  _ My fangs.  _ My fangs!

They’re out. He will know. Snow will know about my fangs; not like he hasn’t already been sensing something about what I am. To be precise, I’m sure he knows more about  _ what I am _ than I do.

I scratch his lower lip, and then I finally stop.

“It’s okay” he whispers while panting. “Go ahead, please.”

There’s only a few drops of blood at first. I can’t describe how it tastes: the rats and squirrels I usually drink to soothe my thirst are nothing compared to this. I wonder if all human’s blood tastes this marvelous. It doesn’t really matter, though – he pulls his head away, wipes the mix of drool and blood off his lips and grins at me.

“I want you to do it.” Snow grabs me by the back of my head, makes my lips touch his neck. “Right here.” I try to resist, but his taste and his smell is driving me crazy. I’ve never lost my control over my thirst, but the temptation seems unbearable now. He rolls onto his back and pulls me on top of him.

I plant a sloppy kiss on his warm skin, and when he lets a loud moan out, do it. I sink my sharp fangs into his flesh.

It’s ecstatic for both of us – I can feel my body fill up with sparks and warmth, and Snow’s sighing and groaning, and he tightens his grip around my arm while telling me not to stop. So I don’t stop. I couldn’t care less about how absurd and freaky this situation gets; with Snow’s taste in my mouth my mind goes blank and I close my eyes. It’s a new spiritual experience and I don’t ever want it to end. He’s been making me dazed for years – and now my sexual awakening, the boy who turned my world around is laying underneath me, fully exposed to my supernatural instincts, whimpering and crying in pleasure. I swear I got drunk on Simon Snow.

I only look at him again, when he makes a weak sound – even in the dark I see how pale grey his skin went. His fingers aren’t grasping at my arm anymore.

Panic is crawling through my body.

Blood patches my white bedsheets and his pyjama when I pull myself from him.

“Snow?” I ask with my voice trembling, hoping for an answer. But I get nothing. He's passed out. The fucking blood loss! “No, Simon, please, open your eyes! Look at me, Snow, say something, please!” I’m screaming hysterically. Thin creeks of blood are flowing down his neck. I grab his hand and try to think of something that might help; but fear is blocking my mind, my tears are falling onto his chest. How could the Roommate’s Anathema let this happen? This can’t be real!  _ This can’t be bloody real! _

And I sit up in my bed, all by myself on the mattress. There’s no blood spilled on my sheets, Snow’s snoring under his blanket in the other side of the room, snoring and snuffling  _ so damn loudly _ , but he’s alive. I did not hurt him.

My fangs are out and there’s a sticky, untidy feeling in my pyjama pants, though. My face is damp with tears, and the humiliation I feel in my throat is making me want to throw up. I press my hand against my mouth while I make my way to the bathroom and let out a painful howl only when the door is closed behind me.  _ Once again – it was only a dream. _

**Author's Note:**

> So - let me tell you, it's the first time I'm posting something that isn't written in my first language (which I'm quite nervous about). I'm sure there are grammatical and stylistical mistakes in my text, please, don't hate me for them :-)


End file.
